How to Seduce an Army Doctor
by miecroft
Summary: Sherlock shows us how he allows John Watson to fall in love with him through a series of lessons in anatomy of the human body.
1. The Heart

How to Seduce an Army Detective- Chapter 1

The Heart

Sherlock had often thought of John as a quiet, calm character.

Certainly not one who would be interested by a person like him. Sociopathic tendencies, social anxiety issues, and an extreme lack of empathy. Who would ever find Sherlock, an alien-like person, entertaining or as a human being.

What defines a human being? Sherlock had thought of this question often, and he had always came up with the same answer: Homo sapiens, primates in the family of Hominidae, of the genus of Homo. Descended from an early species of chimpanzee, which evolved into the species of Australopithecines into the genus Homo.

That was the most descriptive definition of "human" that Sherlock could give. Sure, there were different types with different genetics and features, but as a general statement, that is what he could come up with. It was simple science, and the overall idea was not too difficult to grasp, even a young person could understand it.

But Sherlock had much trouble.

He was an expert in anatomy, certainly knew as much as any physiologist did about organs and functions and whatnot. But what he could not understand was how many layers are in a human.

There is so much more than anatomy to a human, others say. The shallow-minded ones associate love with the heart. Which was absolutely ridiculous, of course. The heart pumps oxygen throughout the bloodstream, it does not hold emotions or control your affection towards another being.

He was confused as to why he decided to come to John for help. John was a doctor, of course, but he had a goddamn heart, as others would say. It was early morning on a Saturday, John reading the paper at the table, sipping coffee as Sherlock observed the tense muscles in his hand.

"John." Sherlock focused on his own hand, which was tapping the table with ferocity, the cold metal pressing against his fingertips. "Don't you think it is ridiculous?"

John looked up from his paper, his blond but greying hair shining under the kitchen lights. "What is?"

"You're a doctor, John."

John whistled and rolled his eyes. "I'm perfectly aware, Sherlock."

"Well, why would you associate love with an organ whose sole purpose is to oxygenate blood and keep it flowing?"

John sipped his coffee again, still looking at his paper. "Well, I'm not exactly sure. I know that the ancient Egypt-"

Sherlock groaned. "Yes, yes, I know. The ancient Egyptians associated your thought process and other basic functions of the brain to the heart. When nobilities were buried, they would take out the heart and preserve it in a jar to keep in your burial chamber. Of course I know that." He sneered, but his eyes tilted slightly downwards.

John rolled his eyes and sighed. "Acting like a smartass isn't a good way to treat people who give you answers, you know."

"You weren't giving me any answers."

John set down his paper and sighed, setting one half of his face on his hand.

"Do you believe it?"

John looked up. "What?"

"You heard me. Do you honestly believe that love comes from the heart?

"Yes. Well, maybe," John sipped his coffee, gazing intensely into Sherlock's pondering eyes and then flickering them back down, "There's some sort of part of the brain that controls love and emotions. Maybe what people consider the heart is really that part of you. I like the idea of the normal functions of your body being separated from the emotional parts."

Sherlock kept looking at John, noticing how he pursed his lips as he wrapped his mouth around the mug. He quickly shot them back down before John could notice. "Interesting. Thank you."

"What made you think of that topic all of a sudden?" John was interested in how Sherlock had come to think of anything even remotely emotional. Sherlock was cold and mind, John was warm and heart. The fact that Sherlock had mentioned something along the lines of emotions was incredibly rare.

"Data. I was intrigued by the fact that people would mistake a natural occurrence of the mind to an organ that has absolutely nothing to do with emotions." He was partly telling the truth.

They sat there for a moment, awkwardly portraying the silence, and Sherlock wondered if John could see through his lie.

"I couldn't gather the data myself, I had to ask someone who would know."

"Why would you come to me?"

"Because I have been reliably informed that I am a machine without a heart, and I know for a fact that you are in fact someone with one." Sherlock turned his head to the side, taking a deep breath, immediately regretting what he said.

"Do you really think I believe what everyone else says about you?" John was appalled that Sherlock would think of him that way. John had only thought about him as a machine at _first, _but once he got to know him, it was different... Wasn't it?

"You act like you do." Sherlock didn't even stir. He calmly tapped his fingers on the table, and John noticed the whirring palpitation of his fingers, the tendons flexing themselves across the metal.

"I don't mean to. You know I don't."

"Do I?" Sherlock's face turned into one of anger, and John became slightly frightened. Interesting, he had never been very frightened by anyone, he was a soldier. But he was quite scared and intrigued with Sherlock Holmes, although he did not know exactly why. Sherlock was bigger than John, sure, but John was stronger.

"Well, I don't. You do have a heart, Sherlock, and one of the biggest I have ever seen." John's face remained plastered as a calm one, and he thought he saw a tiny flicker of satisfaction in blue speckled eyes for a moment.

"Thank you. I've never really considered myself that way."

"Well, you should. You go around saving people and exposing murderers all the time. Who else would do that?"

"Someone who isn't a maniac?"

They both chuckled, and Sherlock smiled softly. He noticed how the curve of John's lip twinged towards the right as his mouth turned upwards. John smelled like coffee and cotton, a smell that filled the flat with a soft and inviting aura, despite all the scientific experiments and human body parts.

"There's definitely more to you than most people realize, Sherlock. And I'm perfectly honored to see through what everyone else does. It makes living with you just a shred more tolerable." They laughed, and Sherlock could feel the presence of warmth and comfort seeping in through his sheets. He felt warm, even though he was barely wearing anything.

"You too, blogger. You too."


	2. The Mind

How to Seduce an Army Doctor- Chapter 2

The Mind

Capturing the attention of John Watson's mind was not as easy as one would think.

Naturally, the first assumption would be that Sherlock needed to impress John with his intellect, show off the power and speed of his unusually intelligent brain. However, this was not the case.

Sherlock needed to show John just how powerful his mind was, how it worked, outline every curve and bend of his ideas, every single idea that floated through his head in an orderly fashion, rolling around and x-ing out theories within seconds, flipping open to the correct theory milliseconds later.

He didn't need to confuse John Watson, he needed to make him understand.

Naturally, John was already extremely impressed by Sherlock's skills, but failed to comprehend how he arrived at that deduction.

Everyone was curious about how Sherlock found all his answers, of course, but no one ever went as far as John in pursuing the answer. John wanted to examine ever gear inside of Sherlock, to be as intelligent as him, to simply know how Sherlock was so keen and accurate in his answers.

Especially in a serial killer case on the west side of London. When the victims of the families were simply positive about the murderer of a few schoolchildren, the agency reluctantly called up Sherlock and John to make sure that they were correct, as Sherlock had insisted that the man was innocent.

Sherlock was inspecting one of the bodies of the children, a young girl just around eight years old who happened to be at the wrong place at the worst time. Her name was Alyssa. She had strawberry-blonde hair and green eyes, and freckles covered every centimeter of her face. There was one injection mark on the nape of her neck, right below her skull. A very blackened bruise covered the site, with dried blood and a little bit of ripped-looking skin. It looked infected, but otherwise the body was untouched.

Sherlock had wandered around the house of the girl, and the mother of the child, sobbing the entire time, was comforted by John as Sherlock ruffled through every square of the place, picking up objects, dusting off books, and looking under Persian rugs in the living room. The girl's room was very interesting, very many models of the solar system, and rockets, which Sherlock was confused by.

"This is not the so-called 'normal' looking room of a young girl," Sherlock noted while looking through her bookshelves, scoffing at the biology books and collections of various animal pictures and items.

"She wanted to be a biologist," the mother managed to choke out while blowing her nose into an embroidered handkerchief.

Sherlock grumbled something untranslatable and muttered as he swept through the shelves, peeking in every corner for clues. Nothing.

For a few minutes after they left, Sherlock sat in the cab and thought thoroughly, moving opportunities and theories left and right with just a swipe of his hands. John looked at him, very intrigued, and asked him what conclusions he was arriving at.

"John, I am trying to deduce at the moment, shut up!"

John rolled his eyes. "I'm just interested, Sherlock. I find it interesting how your mind is able to come to conclusions that quickly."

Sherlock never really openly thought about the possibility that his intelligence really intrigued people. Interested, sure. But everyone usually brushed it off and insulted him before exploring the idea. John was the only one who really wanted to know how Sherlock's mind worked, who was genuinely in love with the way Sherlock's mind whirred and listed data by the second. As they walked up the steps to the flat, Sherlock thought about how incredibly unique Dr. John Watson was. He seemed like an ordinary bloke, granted, but he was so much more.

"No one is ever interested, John, and it's not as if you would actually be able to understa-"

"Sherlock." John rolled his eyes and glared at him. "Maybe I'm not as intelligent as you, but I'm merely interested." He opened the door to the flat and strolled in, sitting down in a chair.

Sherlock sighed and stopped for a moment to look at John. John had never seen him stop his work, but Sherlock was perfectly willing to do so to talk to John. He hated to admit it, but he enjoyed interacting with John more than working. "I'm sorry. No one has been so interested in my work before. Right now I'm almost positive that the man who was accused is innocent, but there are still some little details to analyze."

"Innocent?" John was appalled. "Sherlock, I hate to challenge you, but the man was confirmed for five other deaths the exact same way, at the exact same school. Do you really believe it was anyone else?"

"No, no. It was a different injection. Strychnine. Bruises around the wound mark, cyanide doesn't do that. There were red marks on her face from scratching and thrashing around. The others were killed by cyanide, which is less painful and kills more quickly. Strychnine takes about twenty minutes."

"So? It could just be a different poison, it doesn't matter."

Sherlock sat down and leaned over, looking straight at John. "Strychnine is more painful, causes more stress. Think about it. The killer, killed all at the nape of the neck with cyanide, which does not cause that much pain. Quicker, faster. Didn't really matter who was killed, maybe just for the thrill of it." Sherlock jumped up, his feet on the chair, and used hand motions to explain everything that was going on inside of his mind. "Alyssa's murderer, she obviously wanted her to feel pain. Outside of school hours, not like the others, so she wouldn't get caught."

"She?" John seemed vaguely confused. "Wait, wait... so it was a woman, so she framed the killer by using an injection. So maybe it's someone who works at the school?"

Sherlock smiled. He loved how John immediately trusted his judgement about who it was. "Yes, a woman. The religious professor."

John got up and looked at Sherlock, curious. "The religious professor? Really?Where did you get that from?"

Sherlock jumped up and walked around the room. "Biology. The mother said she wanted to study biology. The professor, I'm guessing highly protestant, aware of her yearning, her passion for religion overtook her-"

"Sherlock, why would a professor kill a student who believed in evolution?"

Sherlock turned around to face John and shot a finger at him. "Oh, yes, why would a professor? But if you're talking about an extremist who was a member of a highly religious hate group, you're speaking differently. Someone who has committed hate crimes for the sake of Christianity."

John looked highly intrigued. "Hate crimes?"

Sherlock's eyes grew bright, and very blue. He grabbed a folder from a table next to him and handed it to Sherlock. "Yes. Professor Maddox, also known as..."

John opened the folder and marveled. "Martha Tope!"

Sherlock smiled widely. "Yes, Martha Tope! The infamous criminal who claimed to kill in God's name. Very extremist, lived in Ireland about five years ago. After escaping prison, she changed her name and moved here to become a schoolteacher."

John was taken aback. "So she killed Alyssa in order to purify the school."

"Exactly! Well done." Sherlock laughed and took the folder from John, and proceeded to call Lestrade to inform him of the news.

John smiled and shook his head, thoroughly impressed with Sherlock and glad he was able to maybe feel as intelligent as him for just a moment. He took one look at Sherlock's jaw bone while he was chatting excitedly on the phone, and then glanced back to his chair, and sat down.

It was a good day.


	3. The Body

How to Seduce an Army Doctor- The Body

John didn't want sex with Sherlock. Not at all. It was possible to have a contact-less, drab relationship, but John couldn't stand those. There had to be some contact, some tension there, or else it would be the most boring relationship in the entire universe.

But absolutely nothing would ever be boring with Sherlock.

It was a strange kind of love, truly. Was it romantic love? Maybe. Was it just platonic? No. John wanted to spend the rest of his life solving crimes, adventuring with Sherlock. He didn't want to settle down. Would it be weird, unnatural for two men to spend their lives together, not in a relationship-like sense?

It all came down to society. Something like that is completely unheard of, John hadn't met people like that at all. Maybe siblings who never married living together, sure, but two friends living together in old age? It just seemed odd to him.

Sherlock, however, was either completely indifferent to the type of actions that are forbidden socially, or he just didn't care. Either way, John admired him for being bale to ignore stares and judgements. John was not particularly good at that, he always became self-conscious when people talked about Sherlock. For example, there was that one moment at Lestrade's party, (in celebration of solving a case of a serial killer) where a woman happened to ask whether they were married.

John became upset and replied a bit rudely about how he wasn't gay, and the woman was quite taken aback, and left promptly. John felt a little bad, but was mostly tired of all the damn accusations about his sexuality.

Sherlock looked down at his shoes and then flickered his eyeballs back to John. "Well, that was... interesting. I have never seen you react so uncivilized."

John angrily clenched his fists. "Well, I don't appreciate when people assume things about me based on their first judgements. Do you?"

"First impressions of me are usually the most accurate."

John glanced over at Sherlock concerned for a moment, and then went back to his drink. "You have a lot more depth than people think you do. My first impression of you wasn't correct."

"You're embarrassed to be affiliated romantically with me, aren't you?" Sherlock held his glass tightly, clenching his fingers so they became filled with the blood flowing towards his nails.

John stayed silent for a moment, trying to come up with a statement to reconcile the moment, but his save was too late.

"Quite right too. I would be too, if I were you. Be seen as a couple with someone like me? Embarrassing." Sherlock's face tightened, and he sipped his drink. "A respectable army doctor, be seen with a sociopathic detective, perceived in a homosexual way? How utterly tragic."

"Sherl-"

"Don't."

They stood silent for a moment, John thinking of what to say, Sherlock trying to resist the urge of punching John in the face. The only thing holding him back was that he didn't actually wish to hurt John, just squash out the nonsense that filled his mind.

"I'm not gay, Sherlock."

"No one asked if you were homosexual, John. They asked if we were in a relationship." Sherlock's posture was as stiff as rock, and John was hunched over a bit.

"Yeah, well, what's your point?"

Sherlock stepped in front of John and pulled at his suit jacket. "John, if you had the chance to continue this life with me for the rest of yours, would you?"

"Sherlock, I'm sure you can deduce that on your own."

"I can't, John. The only thing I can't figure out are emotions, John, and you know that better than anyone."

John stood face to face with Sherlock, staring him down, but his expression softened a bit. "Yes."

"Which one, John? Yes to which one?"

"Both."

They both looked at each other for a moment, both of them realizing that this was fate, that they wanted to spend the rest of their waking moments together. Sherlock and John, hunting down murderers and leaping over other's judgements.

"John, you make that decision as a heterosexual man."

"And?" John knew exactly what Sherlock was going to say, but refused to say the words himself. No, he wasn't gay. He knew that, everyone did. He was attracted to women, always thought that he would spend his life with one, have children with one. And now, he was forfeiting that choice... for a man. Of course people were going to talk, of course they were going to assume him as gay. Because in society's head, that can't happen. Either one or the other, or both. No exceptions, no choosing to be with someone for their pure self.

It always had to be physical features, didn't it? If all humans looked the same, if attraction didn't have to do with physical shape, he could admit to himself the sort-of-love he had for Sherlock. Sure, he was attracted to women and their physical features, of course, but he couldn't love a man because, no, he's a heterosexual male. It just wasn't normal, not acceptable with others.

"John, you're not gay for making that decision."

"I know."

They both stood there, enveloped in each others' eyes for a moment, wondering how society and people could be this cruel, how because they were people they had to be put in a certain category of those who they loved. John had to be either gay, straight, bisexual, or whatever else. Sherlock, everyone immediately assumed as asexual. Out of seven billion people on this planet, everyone who knew John assumed that he could only love half of those.

It wasn't Sherlock's features he loved, it was his intellect, his heroism, his refusal of admitting he was a hero even though he was. The rush, the excitement, even the experiments in the microwave all contributed to the love John had for Sherlock.

"I'm not gay for making that decision, no. I made it because it's the right one."

Suddenly, Sherlock felt enlightenment of John's lips on his, letting him know that, no, I do not care what everyone else sees. They will never be able to see what we do, they will never be able to understand us.

And in that moment, although John may not have been physically in love with Sherlock, all those emotions, all those beautiful thing of the man who stood in front of him felt peaceful, happy for just a moment, and their two bodies shared a moment of love and power unlike any sexual encounter ever would. And at once, both of them became one, enveloped in one another's thoughts and emotions.

Sherlock swore he could almost hear a faint voice whisper _"I love you"_ behind him, giving him chills as the thought drifted off of his neck and into the sky.


End file.
